Simplicity
by Spastic Spastic
Summary: Fifty drabbles from when Ed and Al were children. The innocence of childhood and the sibling rivalry that takes place. Not to mention cake being used as ammunition, that's always fun. And Al is pretty sure 'kaprillion' is not a real number. Not Elricest.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Simplicity**

**Summary: Ten drabbles from when Ed and Al were children. The innocence of childhood and the sibling rivalry that takes place. Not to mention cake being used as ammunition, that's always fun. And Al is pretty sure 'kaprillion' is not a real number. Not Elricest.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own FMA.**

**A/N: Ages vary in each one. Also, I'm not quite sure how long a drabble is meant to be, but anything under 1000 words is a drabble to me.**

IIIII

._One_.

"I want that part of the cake," Edward demands, pointing at the intricate icing at the top corner in the shape of a rose.

"It's _my_ birthday cake," Al reminds his older brother.

As Trisha takes the seven candles out of the birthday cake she says, "It is Al's cake so he should be able to pick what he wants."

Edward crosses his arms, frustration evident on his face. He knows he can't argue with logic.

"It's really pretty Mom," Al compliments his mother who had baked and decorated the cake. Thanks swims in his eyes.

And in the moment it took him to make eye contact with his mother and smile Edward has poked his fingers into the rose, then deep into the cake, successfully marking his spot. "Ha! You can't have it now, huh?" He takes out the offending digits and licks them off.

Trisha stands there with her mouth agape. "Edward! How could you--"

Alphonse isn't nearly as upset about this as his mother. He merely takes a glob of red frosting and his hand splatters the rose on Edward's forehead. "You wanted it so much that I thought you could save that for later," Al says laughing.

._Two_.

Three years old Edward can't quite reach the plate of cookies, and although he could try and move the chairs to stand on, he doesn't want to wake his mother who is currently taking a nap in her room. He knows he's to be taking a nap but everytime he closes his eyes all he can see is cookies dancing, just waiting to be bit into.

"Ba-ba?" mumbles Alphonse, standing just a few feet away. He can't quite pronounce "brother" so "ba-ba" has taken it's place.

Edward intends to shoo him away. He doesn't want to get caught especially with his younger brother in tow. If his mother wakes up she'll blame him for Al getting out of his crib.

"Go," He snaps.

"Ba-ba?" Al repeats.

The older Elric glances up to the counter that is just out of fingers reach and then back to Al, who's engaging in sucking his thumb. With a thieving smirk he motions up to the counter and says, "I want cookies."

His eyes light up at this word. "Cookie?"

Edward picks up Alphonse who giggles excitedly. He stands on his tip-toes, holding Al the highest he can and directs his brother with, and orders, "Get a cookie."

Alphonse reaches out and grabs a single cookie. Holding up his prize he squeals, "Cookie!"

The elder blonde smiles in victory and sets Alphonse on his bottom safely. Ed snatches the cookie and takes a delicious bite out of it, savoring the chocolate chips inside of his mouth. Meanwhile the younger brother watches him intensely with a thin line of saliva hanging out of his mouth. When Edward's eyes meet with Al, Al makes a grasping motion.

Edward doesn't want to attempt that stunt twice. They were lucky the first time but if Al was to fall . . .

He breaks off half of the cookie and gives it to his brother.

._Three_.

When Alphonse sees a shooting star from outside his window he silently wishes for a kitten.

When Edward notices the shooting star also, he wishes for a kitten too, but not for himself.

._Four_.

Edward holds up his creation with a large grin. Perfection. A perfect round body, a head, ears, and mouth, and four legs popping out from underneath the torso. The condition of his cow is great. Thank goodness he excels in alchemy!

Alphonse is a year younger and his skills aren't as honed as his older brother's. One of the back legs is sticking out at an awkward angle and it only has one ear.

"My horse is kinda' bad . . . " laments Al.

"You'll do better next time," encourages Edward.

"This was supposed to be for Winry," the younger Elric groans. "Her birthday is in two days and I haven't been able to make a decent one yet."

Swallowing his pride he holds out his own product. "Take it," He says quickly.

"Really?"

"But only this once," grumbles Ed. "You'll be better next year."

With a smile of gratitude Alphonse takes the cow. He's glad his older brother is looking out for him, otherwise Winry's collection of toys would be chock-full of misfits.

._Five_.

Edward often relies on himself for protection. The eight year old hasn't too much trouble, just the odd argument at school and standing up for Alphonse and Winry, but otherwise he's adept at taking care of himself.

As he leaves the school he pays no attention at who's behind him. Alphonse is staying behind to help Ms. Wyatt clean off the chalkboard and wipe down the desks. He's always doing things like this and Ed knows Ms. Wyatt will escort his brother home so there's no problem in leaving him behind. As for Edward having someone accompany him home there's no need. He can take care of himself.

About five minutes into his walk back home he can see his house just down the road. He can't wait to gulp down sweet lemonade and read some alchemy books--

He's cut off from his thoughts when he hears a yell of shock from behind him. He swings around to see what's going on when he's astonished to see Al, whom he's not known to fight anyone, is wrestling with a boy three years older than him on the ground.

"Al! What are you doing!" Ed shouts, running the length to reach his brother. He shoves the older boy off and kicks him in the knee for good measure. He shouts maliciously, "Now go!"

The older boy seems too happy to oblige and scurries off, any idea of fighting either Elric brother left behind. He's limps away with a nick on his forehead to remind him of the short scuffle.

"What the heck was that?"

Al sits up breathing heavily. He stretches out his hand that is gripping a decent-size stone. When he catches his breath a moment later he clarifies, "He was going to throw this at you."

"What? Why?" Perplexion is evident on his face. He hardly knows that boy.

"'Cause Winry always wants to hang out with you and not him. He's really jealous," He explains. Edward scoffs at the ridiculous reason. "I overheard him talking to Thomas about it so I had to stop him. I even left Mrs. Wyatt at school. I couldn't let him."

"Well good job! You scared the crap out of him," congratulates Edward, sticking out a hand to help Alphonse stand up. With a proud grin he adds, "I guess I don't need to worry if I make enemies. I'll just send _you _after them."

._Six_.

"Edward, drink your milk," sighs Trisha for the hundredth time. She sends the stubborn six year old a stern glare from over her shoulder, then she continues to clean the dishes.

Edward slumps down in his seat with a defeated look. He glares at the thick, white drink and wonders if he can somehow knock all of the repugnant liquid out before his mother rushes over to pick it up. Then again she'll probably refill his glass and demand he drinks it.

"I hate it," He mumbles childishly.

Alphonse notices his brother's plight. He looks at his mother who concentrates on the dishes and then, slowly and carefully, reaches out for his brother's glass. With wide eyes Ed watches as his brother gulps down the milk and then quickly sets it back, all before their mother can look back.

Edward is about to say something urgent to his little brother when Trisha comes over to hug her son and exclaims, "Oh Ed, I'm proud of you!"

To her left Al smiles. He's gotten away with it! He can't believe it!

From their mother's shoulder Edward doesn't have the same mask of pride. He looks like he wants to speak but is unable too.

When Trisha turns around to continue with her dishwashing her gaze settles upon Alphonse. This means their cover's blown.

"Al, you know better," she reprimands him and goes to the fridge to retrieve the milk. "I can't believe you would try to trick me and drink your brother's milk for him. I'm not trying to be mean either, Ed, it's good for you."

As she pours her older son a drink Edward finally satisfies his brother's confusion. "Milk mustache, dummy," He deadpans, left in the same position he was before only minutes ago, staring down a full glass of milk.

._Seven_.

Trisha has become accustomed to one of the boys joining her in her bed. It's supposed to hold two people, after all, and when one crawls in whether from a bad nightmare or just needing their mother's comfort, she is always happy to let them share.

She expects Alphonse to join her yet again in bed, since he's been for the last four nights, and she's hesitant to send him back tonight since he should get used to his own bed by now. He's almost seven after all and spends too much time in his mother's bed for no other reason than he feels uncomfortable in his own bed. Trisha wonders if he realizes this and is tentative about joining her for a fifth night. Just to make sure she walks quietly over to her sons' room and cracks the door.

The sight she see's will always remain in the forefront of her memory. Apparently Al has found another approach and is sleeping in bed with Edward. His pudgy hand is clutching Ed's shirt and his head buried deep into Ed's side (_Al has always been a clinger when he sleeps_, she thinks to herself). Ed is sleeping on his back, his feet stretched over Al's legs. It's awkward positioning but both of them are sleeping contently so they don't mind if they're so close with eachother.

She would take a picture but she doesn't want to wake them up. Her memory is good enough.

._Eight_.

"Do you get your own star when you die?" Al asks his brother. His legs swing in the open air beneath him from where he sits in the tire swing.

"I guess that's why there are so many stars in the sky," says Edward. "A lot of people die so there must be . . . " He seems to stop to mentally count the numbers but the seven year old settles on, "A kaprillion."

"Kaprillion isn't a number," argues Al.

"Then why is there a kaprillion stars in the sky?" he retorts.

Al puffs out his cheeks in frustration but then leaves it at that. Letting his cheeks deflate he asks, "Do you think our stars will be close?"

"They _have_ to be," he states. "I don't want to have to search a kaprillion stars in the sky just to find you."

"If you do have to search I'll be the one yelling 'Brother' so you know I'm there. Just find me quick, okay?"

"Okay."

With this afterlife matter settled they continue their star-gazing is silence.

._Nine_.

Alphonse stares down at the photograph of him, his father, his brother, and his mother in his hands. He's pretty sure he and Edward is the only ones without a father on Fathers Day. The seven year old wants to dispise his father for this, just like Ed does, but what if he comes back? What will happen to that hatred? Would it disappear?

_It's easier to love him_, thinks Al.

Only when someone snatches the photo right out of his hand is he tugged out of his reverie. "Ed! Give that back!" He demands, reaching for it but Edward only steps back to avoid his little brother's grabbing hands.

"You shouldn't be looking at this," Ed says angrily, handing it back to Al, who clutches it tightly to his chest as though he expects Ed to grab it back at any moment. "It'll only make you sad, just like Mom."

"I miss him," mutters Al. "It's like we're the only one's without a dad."

"Winry doesn't have a dad," reminds Ed, "and she's doing just fine. So are we. We don't need _him_."

Al snaps, "Well maybe _you_ don't, but _I do_! I don't even remember him! It's not fair!"

"No, it's not," agrees Edward somberly.

A tear rolls down Al's cheek but he rubs it away, ashamed of his obvious emotions. "I know you don't miss him brother but I can't help it. I want a dad."

Edward puts a comforting hand on his younger brother's head and ruffles his hair. "Let's go play," offers Ed.

Al looks down at his photograph, then up at his brother, then sets the picture down beside him on his bed and follows Ed to go play. He doubts his father is ever going to come back as much as he hates to admit it. His father has already stolen countless hours away from Al where he's grieving, but he's going not going to allow him to steal any more, which he can will spending with his brother.

._Ten_.

One year old Edward Elric doesn't truly understand what's going on. He often clutches onto his father's shirt, trying to communicate his question "Where is Mom?", but it only comes out as gibberish to Hoenheim. He gets the gist of it, putting Edward's sudden unruliness and Trisha's absence together, since he has only seen Trisha for short amounts of time because of Alphonse's birth. Hoenheim wants his wife to be able to bond with Al in relative silence, so he's been stuck with Edward for the better part of four days. This also means Edward hasn't been able to be introduced to Al at length.

Not that Hoenheim is complaining. He enjoys spending time with his son, holding his small hands in his so he won't fall when he walks, and reading him bed time stories so he'll drift off into slumber.

On the fifth day after Alphonse's birth, Trisha asks Hoenheim to bring in Edward so he can visit again.

"Let him get to know his brother," Trisha says with a prideful smile. "Our children so beautiful Hoenheim. Thank you for this gift."

He leans down and kisses her tenderly on her forehead. He then goes to fetch Edward from his crib in which he's taking an afternoon nap. He scoops up the sleepy one year old and takes him into Trisha's room where he sits down in a chair next to the bed.

"Edward, say hi to Al," instructs Hoenheim, holding him in his lap and facing his mother and newborn brother.

Edward blinks his large golden eyes in curiosity. He leans forward, inspecting the bundle in the mess of blankets against his mother's chest, where he can see a chubby face with a content look upon it. Alphonse is sleeping and he wonders where this thing came from.

"It's your little brother," says Trisha. She brings out a hand even tinier than Edward's. "Do you want to hold his hand?"

Edward grasps Al's hand and squeezes with wonder and amazement in his eyes. The contact causes Al to stir and open his eyes, his drowsy gaze landing on his older brother, and he squeezes back.

"Awl," Edward speaks.

"That's right. It's Al." Trisha tries to take back her youngest son's hand but Edward's hold is tight, not wanting to let go of this new found happiness. She wants her other son to let go so she can feed Alphonse properly but he doesn't release.

"Let him hold his hand just a bit longer, Trisha," suggests Hoenheim. "He just found his little brother and doesn't want to let go, right Ed?"

Eventually he does have to let go but Edward looks forward to holding his hand at another time.

IIIII

**Tell me what you think! I'm thinking that I should do more but I'd like to see some support for more drabbles. Suggestions? Thoughts?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Something about these made me want to do more. So, here we go!**

._Eleven_.

"I caught the bigger fish!" Edward proclaims, holding his fish up high so his mother can look at it.

"No, I did!" Al says and holds his up also.

"Well I think they both look great," Trisha says proudly. "I'll make sure they're put to good use."

"Measure them! Measure them!" protests the elder Elric. It seems he is adamant on being the 'winner' of this little competition he's put together in his head. "I think mine is bigger."

"Nu-uh," says Al. "My fish weighs a lot more than yours."

"That doesn't mean it's longer. That is what counts."

"You're changing it now because _mine_ is heavier! If _yours_ was heavier you would say that would count more instead," argues Al, fuming. It seems he doesn't want to lose to his brother -- yet again -- even if it's something as silly as fishing on a Sunday afternoon.

"It's the length that counts. It's _always_ been that way."

"Always? Since when?"

"I dunno, _way _back."

"You weren't even there! You're only nine!"

"You weren't there either so you can't say it _hasn't_ always been that way," smartly replies Edward, a smug smile on his face as though this automatically makes him victorious.

"Let me measure them," sighs Trisha since she's had enough of this bickering. She takes hold of the two fish and takes them to the kitchen and she can hear Alphonse reiterating his point of view. Edward is the only one who can ever get him this heated up since he's rather complacent otherwise. Then, when Edward is heated up, Al is the only one who can calm him down.

She takes out her ruler and lets out a small laugh. She says loudly, "Come here boys! I have a surprise!"

Both boys come rushing into the kitchen on account of this surprise. She turns around and holds out her measuring tape so they can read it.

"Nine inches?" They echo.

"Who had the nine inches?" ask Edward excitedly.

"Well, to tell the truth, you both did," Trisha says with a smile. "They measure exactly the same. I guess you two were so riled up that you didn't notice they were exactly the same."

Both are silent at this for a moment until Al exclaims, "Ha! Mine's heavier!"

._Twelve_.

"I'm stuck!"

"No you're not, now climb down. _I_ did, so you can too," Edward surmises, his arms crossed in front of him with impatience.

Alphonse clings to his branch for dear life. He looks down to the ground, all nine feet separating him, and he doesn't feel as though jumping is a wise thing to do. He knows he should slowly make his way across the branch again and slide down . . . but the _splinters_. Al shivers at the thought of it.

"Go get mom to bring the ladder," says Al, hoping this will solve his problem.

"Climb down, Al. You don't need the ladder."

"I don't want to climb down!"

Edward snorts. "You have do a lot of things you don't want to do."

"Come on, brother, please get the ladder?" Al seems close to begging.

The older Elric sighs and says, "How about this. You jump down-"

"_No_!"

"You didn't let me finish!" He snaps. "Jump down and I'll catch you."

Al blinks dumbly. He sends his brother a look that merely says 'Are you stupid?' and he says nothing in reply. Edward holds out his arms, a lopsided frown on his face, waiting for his little brother to jump.

"Come on Al. I'll catch you, I swear," promises Edward sincerely. He doesn't think of how the wind is going to come rushing out of his lungs once Al plummets down on him but he doesn't really care. He could get the ladder but if Al is going to climb up the tree with him with no qualms, he's going to have to get down the usual way too. After all, if Edward can do it, Al can too (even if there are some awful splinters in his hands he'll have to pick out later).

Alphonse swings his legs off, letting his trembling hands grip onto the limb. He looks down to check that Edward is beneath him and with one huge gulp of air he lets go. He drops down towards his older brother, who is not prepared for Alphonse's full weight crashing in to him. Edward becomes sprawled out on the grass, any air in his lungs suddenly gone. His little brother is on top of him questioning whether he's committed murder via falling on someone.

"Brother? Are you okay?" Al asks, rolling off of his elder sibling quickly.

After a moment to catch his breath, Edward gasps, "You . . . should have . . . _climbed down_."

._Thirteen_.

Al's love of kittens flourishes when, at six, his mother reluctantly allows the helpless felines into the house. The mother cat comes in, with her four kittens in tow, from the field Al and Ed have been playing in all day. Al is joyful when the kittens get to stay in their room provided that they made sure they stayed in their box.

Edward, suffice to say, was not as excited as his younger brother.

This is where Edward's dislike of kitten flourishes when, at night, they begin to mewl and cry when their mother goes in the corner to use the litter box they've left out for her. He tries to put a pillow over his head hoping when they have their mother back that they'll stop crying but it's to no avail. They keep crying!

"Al, can't you hear that?" Edward snaps, sitting straight up with an angry expression.

"They're hungry, brother, that's all," Al explains.

"Make them shutup!"

"They'll be okay in a while."

"A 'while' won't let me go to sleep," he grumbles.

"They're just kittens. They can't help it."

Edward suggests, "They should be in a different room."

To this Al replies hotly, "Well why don't _you_ go to another room?"

Instead of arguing more, he takes this hint, and gathers his blanket and pillow in an act of open defiance against his brother's stupid cats. It's a childish way to end things since this is his room and he has every right to it, but if Al wants him out he's not about to stay.

He takes up occupancy on the couch in the front room. It's not as uncomfortable as most would think. The couch is soft enough that he can sink in it as though he's in his own bed. Edward curls up in his blanket and doesn't have a second thought about his room, other than noting how he prefers this silence to the constant meowing those darn kittens make.

The boy falls into a peaceful sleep.

Edward isn't sure when he fell asleep but he knows it's awfully dark in the living room when he's woken up, the moon being the only light coming through the windows. He's groggy and has to rub his eyes to wake up.

"What? Al?"

"Hi, brother," He says shyly.

Edward notes in his mind that Al shouldn't wake him this late into the night "What are you doing? Why aren't you sleeping?" The first answer that comes to life is that they cats have disturbed him too, and that he wants to sleep on the other end of the couch. Ha! No way.

This doesn't ring true. Al replies, "Well, um, I couldn't sleep without you in there, brother."

"Huh?"

"I'm used to you in the room. It's empty if you're not in there . . . " Al clarifies. "I can't sleep. The kittens are quiet now. I'll get Mom to move them in her room later, okay? Just come back and sleep in your bed. I'm sorry."

Edward doesn't feel much like getting up but his brother's large eyes are almost pleading for him to come back to his bed. They also speak of regret for suggesting that he move out just because he doesn't approve of the kittens. But he's so _tired _. . .

"Okay, fine. Tomorrow night. I'm tired so I wanna go back to sleep here."

"But_ brother_-"

He's quickly persuaded by the whiny tone he loathes to hear, so he gathers up his things a second time and takes them back to his bed. It doesn't take Al more than a minute to go back to sleep and, by luck, the kittens are quiet, so Edward is able to fall asleep too.

._Fourteen_.

Edward tries to control his reactions but everytime thunder roars in the sky, he brings himself into a tighter ball on his bed. He tries to put his pillow over his head to block out the obnoxiously loud booms but it was to no avail. In a final act of desperation the eight year old hides under his blanket as though this will make the thunder stop.

_Stupid weather_, he hisses in his mind. _I hate it, I hate it!_

He's just glad Al is sleeping so he doesn't see his brother in such a scared disposition.

Another thunder crackles in the sky and he only flinches this time. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think of something happy so he doesn't focus on his fear.

And this is why, when there's a rough tug on his blanket, that he lets out a surprised yelp.

"Aaah!"

"Brother, shh! It's just me," Al whispers. "Don't wake mom."

Edward rips the blanket off of his head. Despite his mop of hair sticking out at funny odd angles on his head he manages to pull off an angry face.

"I only yelled 'cause you didn't say anything. Don't just pull on my blanket when you know I was trying to sleep," snaps Edward. His fear has made him more than a bit grumpy.

Al doesn't try to point out how he wasn't sleeping, he was hiding. He sighs and holds out two small puffs of cotton. "Use these as ear plugs. Then you can sleep."

"Oh." Edward stares dumbly at the balls of cotton for a moment then takes them. "Thanks. Don't know why I didn't think of that . . . "

"Night, brother," Al says and takes residency in his own bed.

Edward stuffs the cotton in his ears and the total silence surprises him. It's very odd for a moment, he briefly wants to pull them since it's frightening to lose your hearing, but he forces himself to close his eyes and relax. Soon enough he falls asleep, thankful that Al watches out for him, even in the night.

._Fifteen_.

When you're the oldest you naturally assume the responsibility for your younger siblings. You fill in when your parents aren't there, provide them guidance and protection, and most importantly a strong bond. Then, when the parents come home, the oldest sibling of the family can stop being the responsible one.

The parent-child roles, however, are often misconstrued when one of the parents is missing.

Edward carries the burden of being the oldest in the family - therefore he must be the male role model in Al's life. It doesn't matter if he's only a year older than him or if he hasn't the experience a grown adult has. Nor does it matter if it's not fair for him to have to undertake this position.

It's true that Al and Ed have their mother to look out for them but life isn't complete without a father there.

Edward still tries to fill the void for Al. He's always being there for him, trying to get him to do the right things, and always protecting him from others even when they are twice his size. Yet he always remembers that he is only the brother and hands off the duty to their mother when it becomes too much.

Ed doesn't like the word 'burden' for this, though. Even if someone is going to use the word burden, it doesn't make it bad. It's something he's glad to have. He _happy_ to be there for his little brother and Edward is positive Al feels the same way for him.

._Sixteen_.

All Edward knows is that he can't lose him.

"AL!"

"BROTHER, HELP!"

_No, no, no. This can not be happening. This isn't the way it's supposed to be. We're supposed to be happy again. We were going to be a family again._

_I can't let him die for _my_ mistake_. Edward feels a certain self-loathing begin to rise but he will not let this distract him. _I'll give something up. I'll give _anything_ up. Just, _please_, don't let him die._

_Transmutation circle. Bind his soul into something,_ he thinks quickly. He only has seconds to act. _Transmute his soul. Transmute him into . . ._

His gaze settles on the armor suit not to far away. He has no time to think of what will happen to Al once he settles into this hollow body. All Edward can think is that he cannot (**no**, _he will not_) lose another family member.

Al is all he has left and he isn't willing to let him go, even if it means binding him to a suit of armor, his entire existence going to be unfeeling and numb.

To this day he isn't sure if is an act of love or selfishness.

To Al, it doesn't really matter, because he knows his brother made a sacrifice to save him. To him it is the purest love there is.

._Seventeen_.

"Aaaaah!" Al jumps back from the bushes when someone pops out unexpectedly. When the bush had rustled to get his attention he had been suspecting an animal, hopefully a cat, but instead a human jumps out from the thicket with a yell.

Al lands on his butt and stares up at Edward, whom has leafs stuck in his hair and twigs sticking out of his clothes, but despite his foolish appearance he's laughing loudly.

"Brother, that's horrible!" Al snaps, embarrassed.

"You should have seen the look on your face! Oh, that was great," Edward exclaims, still chuckling.

"Well you look stupider than I did so I wouldn't laugh," huffs Al as he gets up, beginning to chuckle also, only this at his brother's state.

There's nothing he can say because he knows he must look ridiculous. This immediately shuts Edward up and he begins to pick out the foliage and sticks from his person so other people don't have a good laugh too while he walks home.

._Eighteen_.

Seven year old Edward knows not to talk to strangers. His mother hasn't given him specifics on why strangers are dangerous, just that they are, and that if they try to take you you should scream and kick.

So when he see's his little brother has wandered off with some unknown man he's immediately suspicious. It's not to far away, about five feet, but the man is talking animatedly and is ruffling his brother's hair. After collecting the dozen eggs their mother sent them to fetch, he walks over to the man and steps in front of Al, successfully knocking the man's hand away.

The man smiles brightly his black bangs getting in his eyes. Although there's nothing threatening about him Edward knows his mother warned him for a reason.

"We have to go home," Ed says over his shoulder to Al. He hopes this guy can get the hint and leave.

"He has a brand new litter of kittens, brother! I want to go see them. He says I can," whines Alphonse.

Ah, only five minutes of conversation and his gullible brother is already in by this guy.

"You should come see them too," the man says with a welcoming, warm voice.

"No, we have to go," he says authoritatively.

"Don't be in such a rush kiddo," says the man, "I'm Brenton. I know Al's name but what's yours?"

Ever the sarcastic one Edward replies, "Ficklestein Shlegenhiemer. We're leaving._ Now_." He emphasizes his last word by grabbing Al's hand starting to half-walk, half-run down the road.

"Give your kittens pats for me!" Al shouts to Brenton.

Brenton only gives a half-hearted wave. His shoulders are slumped in disappointment.

This tells Edward that he made the right decision and that he should really drill it into Al's mind not to talk to strangers, even if they do have kittens.

._Nineteen_.

Trisha watches as her boys splash eachother in the bathtub. They're only four and three so they don't mind being bathed at the same time. Then again if they weren't bathed at the same time they wouldn't have fight over who gets which toy. The toy boat is deemed 'cooler' and the rubber ducky, by Edward's words, "A baby toy."

When Edward finally succeeds in taking the toy ship Al screeches loudly that it's his. It's a quick reminder of how Al is going through his "mine" phase. This bowl is "mine," this toy is "mine," this blanket is "mine," and this side of the bathtub is "mine." It never ends.

Not to mention Edward does not want to cooperate and assist in doing laundry. He's stubborn and would rather play. Trisha's only trying to teach him responsibility at a young age but he'd rather sit and do nothing (ex: time out for being mouthy) than do laundry.

Nevertheless, she wouldn't give anything up for motherhood.

If only Hoenheim was here to enjoy a family . . . but if he hasn't come back after four years, it isn't likely that her boys will ever have a father.

This only makes her more determined to love her children (even when they throw toys at eachother in the bathtub).

._Twenty_.

The loss of innocence is tragic.

The first thought that strikes Edward's mind is, _We're orphans. We're not just fatherless . . . we're orphans._

The death of their mother has struck the very last nerve in each boy. Alphonse is almost hollow, lifeless, and any talk of his mother makes tears roll down his face. Edward is having no better time in dealing with his overwhelming emotions. He's constantly moody and visits her grave every day for a week. He refuses to be comforted by Winry or Pinako. It seems as though he wishes to grieve alone.

He isn't alone though when Al joins him on the seventh day of visiting the grave. Al can't stop himself from crying. He wants to be stoic like this elder brother, who looks more enraged than sad, but he can't help aching horribly for their loss.

"W-What will we do without her?" He sobs, wiping away his tears.

"We won't, Al," He says, his fists shaking. "We're going to bring her back."

"What?"

"Human transmutation," He whispers.

"B-But that's-"

"Dangerous? Yeah, it is, but we can't survive without her Al! We just can't!" He shouts.

"Brother, I miss her too, but it's against the law of nature. And what about equivalent exchange?" He reminds his brother hesitantly. Al doesn't want to state this because part of him wants to jump at the chance to bring his mother back, but there is a logical side to him, one that is stronger than Ed's that is screaming for everything to come to a halt. "It's so dangerous and . . . I-I can't loose you too."

Edward glances at his younger brother and the determination is never going to become deterred.

"We'll need training," Edward says. "We're going to have to do a lot of things to reach that point . . . but we_ have _to."

Alphonse knows his brother well enough to realize when his mind is made up. So, tentatively, he nods. He knows they'll probably wish later down the road that they haven't done this. But when he looks at the grave in front of him . . . of his mother buried six feet under . . . it is enough to drive two lonely sons to do _anything_.

IIIII

**Reviews would be really, really nice.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry if they tend to act more mature than their ages. I'm not too good at writing children and I'm scarcely around kids, so I don't exactly know how they act. Then again I could say they're very intelligent for their age since they can comprehend alchemy and such (I know I'd be lost at the first sentence). I also want to thank those who have reviewed, and to those who are reading this, because you put a smile on my face.**

._Twenty One_.

"I know you're embarrassed but you really should have the tube around you when you go out in the water," Trisha says with a sigh.

"But why?" protests Alphonse. He looks to his brother who has only tubes around his upper arms (and he's very proud of it, it seems, since there's a haughty look on his face). "Momma, I wanna' _swim_, not _float_."

"You don't know how to swim," she reminds him. "And you know that Edward just got the hang of it. He can't drag you to the shore and I can't swim very well myself, so if you do drown we can't do much."

Alphonse's grip tightens on the bright green tube that has a snake head pointing out from the front. He finally gives up and follows his brother to the shore and, after making the painful moves over the rocks at the front, they start to swim.

Well, not so much swim as flailing about in the water. Edward seems overeager to prove that he can swim and is causing miniature tidal waves in Al's direction, causing his little brother to propel a few feet away. The six year old decides to float closer to the shore.

Their mother is watching from the shore over the top of her book. They are virtually the only family on the beach (which is really only a small lake that goes about five feet deep surrounded by some sand, with ducks sometimes making their way across the water), save for an old married couple enjoying the summer day. But it is a big decision to decide to pack up and have a fun-filled day at this beach. Trisha wishes she could teach Al to swim, since Edward learned from a friend at school, but alas Al and water have never seemed to get along very well. He's always flopping around the in bathtub blindly and has never been out in the lake for more than five minutes.

"Brother, do you want to make a sandcastle?" Al asks, turning back around from inspecting a shell underneath the water. Except he doesn't see his brother there: only his arm-floats remain.

"Edward! Put those back on!" Trisha demands.

"Where did he go? Where did he go?" Al has played this game before and the panicked tone in his voice is not undeserved. His brother has always gone underwater and paddled his way to Al and dragged him underwater.

"Come back, Al, and drag your brother with you if you can," advises their mother. She's clad in her one piece swimming suit and is starting into the water, hissing everytime she steps on a particularly sharp rock.

It appears she has come too late when Al yelps "Eeee!" and is dragged underwater. His movements are slowed in the water and he can see his brother, who is plugging his nose and has a humored look on his face. With his movements so slow his slap is really slowed down to a light tap on the shoulder. Of course Edward has to hold his brother to keep him under since his tube is fighting to pull him up. They're only beneath water for about five seconds until Edward lets go. He's not so cruel as to keep him from breathing -- he's just teasing.

The next thing Ed knows his mother is pulling him out of the water with an annoyed look. "Ed, you really shouldn't do that," she reprimands him. She pulls over the discarded arm-floaties and makes him put them back on. "You know it scares your poor brother."

"I don' like water no more! I'm gonna make a sandcastle!" declares Al and runs as fast as he can to the sand. It's better to run over the rocks so you can't feel them.

"I was only joking," Edward mumbles. "Don't he know that?"

"Well go say you're sorry and help him with the sandcastle," Trisha suggests, giving him a gentle ruffling of his wet hair.

Edward makes him way over to his younger brother and sits across from him. He can tell Al is trying to avoid looking at him. His snake-tube is sitting beside him and he's loading sand into his bucket.

"Can I help?"

"No."

"Are you sure? Cause I-"

"_No_," he reiterates, slamming his bucket upside down and sliding it up quickly, only for the sand to become loose and fall apart.

"Here." Edward takes ahold of the bucket and fills it up, using his hand since Al is clutching onto the shovel. He packs it in tight with his hands and then slides it slowly. When it doesn't fall apart he says, "There. And, well, sorry."

"It's okay," Al says quietly. "Still wanna help?"

"If you want me to."

Trisha takes her place with her book, not even bothering to spy above it since she knows they're going to get along fine as long water stays far away from them.

._Twenty Two_.

Recess contains fun times and friends giggling in large groups. Except today someone has decided to stand up for his friend and now there is most of the school's children surrounding the bully, Alphonse, and Winry, the original victim.

"You don't hit girls!"

"She called me an idiot!" The nine year old points at Winry, who is rubbing a bruise on her forehead from the rock chucked at her. Tears are in her eyes but she doesn't look pitiful, she looks very angry. It's true she called him an idiot but it's only because he pulled on her hair.

"I don't care," says Al bravely. He's holding his arms out in a protective stance in front of Winry. "You can't hit girls. It's just wrong. Now go away and leave her alone!"

"Well I don't care either. She deserved it. And don't you go ratting me out you little jerk or I will hurt you!" He grabs Alphonse by the front of his shirt and throws him to the ground in front of his friend.

"You're not just an idiot, you're a moron!" Winry snaps, her hand clinging onto her friend's forearm.

There's a moment of silence that is interpreted as the calm before the storm. Out of nowhere Edward hits the bully harshly on the back of the head, successfully knocking him into the grass.

"You don't hit my friends, specially a girl, and you don't hurt my little brother. I guess you never learned that either, huh?"

._Twenty Three_.

"Brother?"

"What?" He groans, half-asleep in his bed.

"Do you think dad misses us?"

Great, another one of Al's late night musings. "How should I know?" He says curtly, turning over to his side to face away from Al and hoping he gets the hint.

"Well if I had kids I'd miss 'em," he states sadly.

"If you don't abandon them I'm sure you'll do fine," Ed snaps with more bitterness in his voice than intended. He quickly amends himself with, "But I know you won't do that."

"No, never."

Figuring that if Al can bother him in the middle of the night, he can atleast make a joke at Al's expense.

"Hmm . . . I wonder what you and Winry's kids will look like?"

"_Brother_!" He whines. He's always teasing him about his silly little crush at the weirdest of times.

Ha ha. Mission accomplished. "I'm going to bed Al."

"G'night, brother." A pause. "Don't have _too_ many dreams about Winry."

It turns out Al also likes to tease his brother about his childhood crush.

._Twenty Four_.

Seven year old Alphonse will _never_ eat snow without first looking at it. He has made this mistake, scooping up some while talking to his brother, and then a horrible taste attacks his taste buds. His eyes widen and he glances where his hand had gathered this from; yellow snow, and he knows exactly what this means.

From his brother's mistake Edward also learns this but, of course, after chuckling at the misfortune.

"You shouldn't laugh, brother! _Yuck_!" Al says, spitting it out. He uses the glove he hadn't picked up the yellow snow with to scrape his tongue.

"Sorry but your _face_," laughs Edward. "You looked fine and then you looked like you were gonna hurl."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Like what? 'Watch out! You're about to eat pee!'," Edward quips and this awards a glare from his younger brother. "No, really Al, I didn't know. I woulda' said something if I had seen it. Even I'm not that mean. And you know if it was _me_ who at it you would be laughing too."

"Yuck, yuck," he mutters as he heads towards the house to brush his teeth several times over.

Later he makes his brother swear he will never repeat this to anyone or never speak it out loud where someone can over hear. Then Al swears to himself to check every inch of snow he eats in the future so this incident never repeats itself.

._Twenty Five_.

"Oh aren't you two just adorable?" Trisha says, a large smile on her face.

"Can'y! Can'y!" says Al. The six year old holds out his pumpkin bucket from underneath his cape. As he talks his fake vampire teeth fall to the floor.

Trisha picks it up quickly and washes it before letting him place it back in his mouth. She turns to Edward who has an identical pumpkin bucket but is a wizard, a large pointed hat with stars and moons on it. It's almost too big for his head and keeps slipping over his eyes. He pushes it up with his wand, which is a stick whittled down to thin and straight, then painted over black with a white tip.

"Are you boys ready for school?"

Both nod vigorously. They are eager to collect candy from their teacher and for the hunt, where atleast fifty caramel apples are sitting in the playground wrapped in cellophane for freshness. It'll start at eight thirty and they have about ten minutes to get there.

On their way there they meet up with Winry who is a witch. There's green paint on her face and she carries a small broom, threatening Edward with it when he says wizards are better than witches. They tease and play on their way there, and when they arrive at the school Trisha gives them each the large chocolate chip cookie she promised them the day before.

"I'll pick you up when school ends," says Trisha before she leaves. "Have fun and play fair."

"I can't wait! I'm gonna'get _tons_ of apples!" Edward says as they gather in the classroom.

"Ipth gonna gef some too," Al agrees. His vampire teeth get in the way of him speaking properly so Winry and Ed just nod to whatever he says.

It's not a large school so most of the five, six, and seven year old's are taught by two teachers in one classroom, each age awarded the proper work for their age. It's this group that's going to go first on the candy hunt since the older kids would most likely trample them.

The sixteen children gather in a straight line in the back of the school. Ms. Wyatt and Mr. Umbar tell them the rules: only three apples each (the extra two go to the teachers), no stealing, no pushing, and absolutely no fighting. Breaking any of these rules will get their candy taken away. With this said, and the children bouncing where they stand, they send them off in a stampede of bobbing heads and declarations of "I'm gonna' get the first!"

Alphonse goes for the obvious ones. There's one lodged in the chain of the swing. He grabs it by the stick and proudly puts it in his bucket. He looks around to see if Edward is nearby and he sees his older brother arguing with Winry. He overhears Winry say, "I don't want it if it's got _sand_ on it! _You_ can have that one!"

It doesn't take long for him to return his attention back to his task. He walks about two steps and then notices his bucket is oddly light.

"Who fook my apfle?" says Al loudly. He's not sure if anyone will admit to it but it's worth a try. Sadly, no one pays attention, and he's back to scouring around the playground for more caramel apples.

He's found another at the base of the oak tree and puts it in his bucket. This time he's not letting it go; he keeps a firm grip on the stick and starts to walk away. He didn't truly expect for the thief to pop up a second time but, as he looks up in the monkey bars for any apples taped to the bars, he feels a tug.

"Hey!" He snaps and moves back, still clutching the apple. The girl, dressed as a ghost in a sheet with two eye-holes, is adamant and gives one final tug on the apple itself. It flies off into the sand where it looks rather unappetizing. "Why foo do t'at?"

"You shouldn't look away from your bucket," she advises quickly and goes off to search for more apples.

Downtrodden Alphonse sulks on the swings, given up on hunting for any more apples. Why do it when someone is just going to take them?

"Al?"

He looks up to Ed who holds out one of his apples. "Got it from that jerk," he says, looking to the ghost kid who is crying and being comforted by Ms. Wyatt.

Al takes his vampire teeth out and points out, "But you won't get no more, brother."

"Don't matter," he says and shrugs it off. He smiles up at Mr. Umbar who looks very displeased and says innocently, "I never like caramel apples anyway."

._Twenty Six_.

"Achoo!"

Al hands his brother another tissue. "Do you want some soup, brother?" He asks worriedly. "I already made mom some so there's some left."

"Yeah, sounds good."

The eight year old resigns himself to the kitchen and heats up some more soup for his brother. He's the only one in the small family who isn't down with a cold. He's trying to be careful about it and handles every bag containing used tissues with gloves on and always covers his mouth when around his brother or mother. Since his brother caught a cold this morning he realizes he is susceptible to infection very easily.

It doesn't take long before the tomato soup heats on the small gas stove. He lets it cool down some before taking it to Edward, who is extremely grateful that his little brother has some sort of culinary ability.

After Edward is done Al picks up the bowl with his gloves on. Ed huffs, "I don't have a _disease_, Al. I just have a cold."

The younger Elric raises an eyebrow. "Yeaaah. I know that, brother. I'm just trying to be careful is all. I mean, if I get sick, who's going to take care of you and Mom?"

"Oh. Yeah." Edward has almost forgotten that there's only one family member left walking. He would say Winry and Aunt Pinako could come help but they have just gotten over some nasty colds themselves. They won't want to become sick again. "How is Mom anyway?"

"She's okay, I guess," says Al, sitting back down in the chair and sets the empty bowl on the desk by the bed. He looks down at the floor with his forehead creased in thought. He chews on his bottom lip and for a moment looks as though he's going to say something but he stops before he utters a syllable.

Edward is put off by Al's timidity. He usually asks questions without restrain . . . unless it's something really touchy.

"Al, what is it?"

"Well, um, does Mom seems to be getting sicker to you?" He asks nervously. "She's not as healthy as she used to be and she was the first one to get sick _and_ has been sicker longer than anyone. Colds don't usually last for a week . . . "

"She'll be fine," says Edward sternly. "She's strong. She's not going to be beat by some cold."

"But--"

"Al you worry too much. She's been taking care of us for a long time, I think she's prolly gonna get tired and worn down sometimes," Edward interrupts with a tone that tells his brother this is the end of the discussion.

Al knows Edward only gets so defensive when he worries but doesn't mention it. After all, he is probably right (or perhaps he's only hoping he's right). Maybe their mom will feel better tomorrow, or the day after. She can't stay sick with a cold forever.

_What if it gets worse?_ he thinks as he makes his way to the kitchen with the bowl. As he starts to wash it he pushes the thought away. _No, she'll be okay. She _has_ to be._

._Twenty Seven_.

As a three year old the most exciting thing is watching bubbles. Edward could watch them for hours as his mother blows them. They disappear too quickly for him to catch one and he childishly wonders where they go.

Alphonse sits next to him and looks angered every time he catches one in his pudgy hands and it pops.

"Boobles bad," Al grunts.

"_Bu_bbles honey," Trisha corrects him, a smile on her face.

"I wan' more bubbles!" Edward says with wonder in his golden eyes. This time he has a fierce determination to catch one. He reaches out to one right in front of his face. His hands move very slowly as though the bubble will attempt escape if it knows he's sneaking up on it.

It's too late though. Al has gone for the gold and smacks it out of the air, his hand landing firmly on Edward's face when he goes full swing.

"Aaaah!" Edward cries and pushes his little brothers arm away. He grabs his stinging nose with a chant of, "Ow, ow!"

The mother knows exactly what will take his mind off of the smart of the smack. She blows more bubbles and soon enough Edward's attention turns away from his nose. He watches as they go up into the air and become carried away by the breeze. He's not sure why they are so mesmerizing to him, and a three year old hardly cares why, but it puts a grin on his face that even his brother hasty smacks can't wash away.

._Twenty Eight_.

"I hate the rain," mumbles Edward and he rubs his eyes. He holds his small umbrella over his head so the droplets are deflected.

Al has his own umbrella and nods in agreement. "I like watching it though," he says.

"From inside," Ed adds. "We should have waited at school until it stop--"

If only to make his day worse Edward, who hasn't been watching where he's going, has stepped in a deep mud puddle and slipped. His umbrella wrenches away from his hand as gravity wins again and he lands face first into the mud/filth/muck.

"Ah, brother! Are you okay?"

He eight year old lets out a curse ("Brother, you shouldn't say that!") and tries to stand up, slips, ultimately landing into the dirt for a second time. Al has to admit that the frustrated look his brother has on his face that mixes in with the dirt is pretty funny. Despite his own amusement Al helps his brother up.

"Eeewww." Al wipes the dirt on his hand off on his brother's soiled rain coat.

"Hey! What are ya doing!"

"Well you're already dirty so I thought--"

Edward gathers up a clump of dirt from his forehead and smears it on Al's rain coat. He jumps back before Al can retaliate by picking up fresh mud to slather on his brother.

"You'll have to catch me!" Edward teases. He runs picking up his umbrella on the way. He looks over his shoulder to view his little brother's progress and taunt him. This is when he falls (again) into the dirt, tripping over a rock.

This time the younger Elric doesn't hold back his laughter. "Hahaha! You should watch out, brother, geesh!"

"The world hates me," he claims glumly as he picks himself up once again.

It's the only solution he can come up with as to why he's had such bad luck today. It's either that or admit that he is foolish in not watching where he was going, but this is never going to happen. He'd rather eat dirt; which _has_ happened and he has to spit it out. With this in mind he decides that if he's going to fall he should do it with his mouth closed.

._Twenty Nine_.

"Mom, mom, I got taller than Al!"

Trisha sighs at her sighs at her young boy. She knows Edward is always trying to proclaim that he's taller than he is. He wants to be taller than Al since he is older but with them being only a year apart it isn't likely their height is going to differ by much. Perhaps Ed will have a growth spurt in his teens and be taller for a little while but Al isn't close behind.

"Measure," says Edward as he stands in the living room's left corner. The seven year old stands as high as he can without standing on his tip-toes. He puts his back up against the wall where markings in pen are, marking how tall each of them is.

Needless to say there are many more marks from Edward than Al. Ed has become too preoccupied with his height.

Trisha isn't sure if she should spare him or if she should tell him the truth. As she looks at the measurements he hasn't grown within the last month. Not that she expected him too. Edward's expectations are always higher than they should be.

"You're still the same, Ed," she says gently. "But you'll grow when you're older."

Edward swings around to look at the wall and uses his hand to see if the line from the top of his head and the one of the wall match. They do and this causes disappointment, as always.

"Measure Al," he says defiantly.

"Ed-"

"Al! Come here!" He shouts to his brother who is currently in the kitchen with his pudding. How tall each of them is hardly holds his interest.

"Comin'!" Al hurriedly scoops up his pudding then shoves it in his mouth. He licks the spoon clean before hurrying to the front room to see what's going on. From his brother's expression he can tell he hasn't grown any taller. "Brother, you gotta wait 'til you grow."

"Your brother wants to see if you've grown either," Trisha says. "It'll make him feel better when he see's you're exactly the same."

"Nu-uh," Edward says under his breath so no one can hear him.

Obediently he stands up against the wall and waits patiently as Trisha looks. Edward looks on also with wide, curious golden eyes.

"Uh-oh," she breathes.

"What?" Both brothers echo at the same time, turning to see what their mother's surprise is about.

"It's not much but, well Al, you've grown about a centimeter. It's nothing to be upset over Ed," she quickly says to him. "It's _just_ a centimeter."

Edward glares at his brother as though he evilly makes potions in the middle of the night just to grow taller than his brother.

"It's just a centipede brother," says Al. Then a look appears in his eyes as though something disturbing has entered his mind. "A centipede?"

She knows that this can grow out of hand so she tries to amend his mistake. "Not a centipede, a centi-"

"_Pede_. You said centipede!" accuses Al. He quickly gropes his head in a desperate search for his accursed bug. "Where's it at? Where'd it go?"

"It's on your head, I see it!" Edward says, egging him on even though it's clear enough he's mixed something up along the way. "I'll get it!"

"Edward please-"

Edward karate chops the top of Al's head with a declaration of, "Take that, centipede!"

Al grits his teeth and rubs his sore head. "Owww," he groans. "No more growin' centipedes, momma, I don't like 'em."

._Thirty_.

"You got detention brother? But why?" cries Alphonse. He sits down in the desk next to him and tries to think through out the day - they have the same teachers so it's not as though anything Ed has done will go unnoticed in the small classroom. He hasn't seen his brother act out or yell or pick a fight all day in class.

"It was at recess," says Ed as if he can read Al's mind. He scuffs the floor with his boots and mumbles, "It was stupid."

"Brother . . . " he says in his most concerned tone.

Giving in he says, "I got mad is all, 'n that's when I kicked dirt in Sam's face."

Protectiveness surges within Al. It seems that his brother has more people that didn't like him since he was rather outspoken. He's always asking his brother to stop it but Edward often shrugs it off.

"What'd he do?"

Edward doesn't make eye contact with his brother as he says, "He, um, well . . . he said that if I didn't like Winry that I'm queer."

"Queer?" Al echoes. He tries to go through his eight year old knowledge of words but he's not quite sure what 'queer' is.

"Queer is me liking other boys, Al," he says after a couple of minutes.

"Wait, what? No, you like Winry though . . . right?"

"I used to! I mean, I don't have a crush on her no more, but she's still pretty," Edward snaps back. It's much harsher than he wanted and it makes an apologetic look come on his brother's face. "Sorry, Al. Just that if I said I liked Winry than he'd to tell her, and when I kept saying I didn't he called me queer."

"He's just a jerk!" Al says loudly. "You shoulda ignored him."

The older boy rolls his eyes. "Yeah cause that always works."

"You could let Winry know that you used to like her. It's not that she'd laugh or nothing."

"Do you want her knowing that you like her?"

"That's different! She don't like me, she likes _you_."

"Whatever. I don't care," Edward grumbles moodily and lays his head down on the desk. "Detention is starting soon so you better go."

"Are you the only one?"

"Sam is gonna be here too."

"I'm staying."

"Don't be stupid, just go."

Alphonse sits forward in his seat and doesn't budge, since it doesn't matter what Edward says to him. After a minute of repeatedly snapping at his younger brother he has to stop since Sam, a red-haired and grim-faced nine year old, walks in the room behind the teacher Ms. Wyatt. Sam sits next to Edward and sticks his tongue out at him when Ms. Wyatt isn't looking.

"I'm disappointed in you both," says Ms. Wyatt as she takes her seat at her desk. "You know better than to use that language Samuel. And Edward, violence is never a good way to settle things! And Al-" she pauses than continues "-Al, what are you doing here?"

"Brother isn't gonna be alone in here with _him_." He sends an accusing glare over at the red head. The emphasis on him is one with severe contempt.

"I'm with them Al. You can go home. Your mother will probably worry why both of her boys aren't home yet."

"But it's not fair," he says loudly. "How come brother has to have detention? He was only trying to make Sam be quiet!"

"I know but he shouldn't solve his problems by kicking dirt in someone's face."

"He deserved it though," says Al, crossing his arms and sulking down in his seat. Edward nods in agreement.

"Shutup you queer!" Sam shouts.

"Boys-"

The teachers word fall on deaf ears as Edward snaps, "Don't call him a queer or I'll do more than kick dirt in your face!"

There isn't any dirt to kick up in the other boy's face so he settles on throwing the piece of paper on his desk at the offending child. Sam avenges himself by reaching over and grabbing Edward by his sleeve, pulling him down to the floor. He tries to lay a punch on his head but Alphonse is up like lightning, pushing Sam out of his own seat to protect his sibling. Ms. Wyatt runs to the squabblers and she separates them, then pulls Sam to the back of the class to set him in a seat there.

"On second thought you can stay too, Al," she says coolly as she heads to the front of the class. "And I will not tolerate any more name calling or fighting! I will call your parents if you try to do that again. Now get yourselves a pencil and some paper and write me a hundred word essay on why violence is wrong, and why calling people names is wrong too. In your case Sam it'll be a two hundred word essay for both things."

Al hasn't become too upset that he's ended up in detention. He's not really looking forward to going home and explaining as to why either of them are late. He smiles at his brother who smiles back and mouths "Thanks."

**Productivity on any more drabbles may slow down due to working on another FMA fanfic. I can't promise on either but I'll try to do something more before writers block kicks in full gear. Meanwhile, I hope you enjoyed these drabbles, even the ones that are a little too long.**

**I hope you weren't too put off by the insinuations of Al/Winry or Ed/Winry. None of these drabbles are going to turn into that but I mean, come on, they probably did have crushes on her when they were young. A lot of little boys get crushes on their friends who are girls.**


	4. Chapter 4

._Thirty One_.

_"The theorems weren't the problem, Al. It wasn't the math. It was _us_."_

Alphonse can tell Edward is trying his hardest not to yell in agony. He must be enduring it stoically as to not cause his younger brother further suffering.

Then again, there's no physical suffering that can make Al flinch in the slightest. If he were a regular human his heart would be pounding his chest, and he'd probably be crying into his hands for what his brother is going through. Al can't even say he 'can feel his brother's pain' like most people would. In fact, he won't be able to feel pleasure nor pain any more. It's something he can only remember vaguely now.

"Ed, it's almost over," Pinako says as calmly as she can from within the room.

Al buries his metal head in-between his knees. It won't be over fast enough, he bets.

Ed has forbidden his brother from being in the room while his auto-mail surgery is taking place. Perhaps he wishes to protect his brother from witnessing the suffering, or maybe he's afraid Al will try to stop him. This doesn't mean he can stop Al from being close as he possibly can by staying right outside the door.

There's an anguished yell from inside the room that rips away at the only thing he has left, his soul.

_Brother . . . I should have stopped us, I'm sorry._

._Thirty Two_.

_"I'm the one who has to fix things, and get your body back."_

_It's a good thing that Al isn't in here_, Edward reflects as he gasps for air. It's being stolen away whenever he's pounded by a swell of suffering. _I don't think I can keep quiet for much longer._

Ed doesn't pretend he's tough enough to take it. He's unable to imagine someone capable to take this suffering in silence. All he's trying to do is make sure that Al (of whom he's sure is waiting outside the door) doesn't hear him.

It's impossible though when a wave of pain crawls up his new arm. Connecting the nerves is one of the most dreadful things Ed has had to go through. Sacrificing his right arm, or loosing his left leg, is a dip in a warm pool when compared to this. This is diving straight into a boiling cauldron with no way out.

What he has allowed his Winry to hold his hand. It's something to squeeze onto. Something to assure him that there is something beyond this agony. Sometimes he's afraid he'll break her fingers but she doesn't say a word against it. Whenever he dares to open his eyes he sees a smile on his best friend's face, but it's only for show. It doesn't reach her eyes.

But if this is the price he has to pay for bring back . . . that _thing_ he'll endure it. That thing that was not their mother. It was . . . an abomination. Nothing like their precious, loving mother.

_This is for Al_, he reminds himself as he grits his teeth. _I can't fail again. I won't fail him. I-I can't lose him, I just can't._

Childhood must come to an end at some point. For Ed and Al, it's stolen much too soon.

._Thirty Three_.

There's only one thing Edward has always been afraid of. Even when he was a toddler, he always ran away from these hideous malformed things. They're the colorless cousins of butterflies. They're the opposite of what's beautiful. (This is all in Ed's point of view, of course, because many would probably disagree with him)

Butterflies flutter about, orange, yellow, and black mixing together to make a pleasant insect. They bother no one and are gentle. Of course this is not what Edward is afraid of.

It's the moth that causes him to dart across the hill towards the house today. His yells of, "It's Moth-zilla! Moth-zilla!"

". . . Brother?" Eight year old Alphonse says warily.

Edward stops at the porch of his home to gather air into his lungs. He goes on to say, "It was as big as my fists, Al. My_ fists_!" For emphasis he waves his clenched hands in front of Al's face for poof.

"Let me guess," Al says dully. "A moth?"

"Moth-_zilla_," he corrects him.

"Adding 'zilla' to something doesn't make it scarier or bad, brother."

"Oh shutup."

Patience wearing, Al hisses, ". . . It's behind you."

"Ahhh!"

Alphonse watches with a snicker as Edward runs into the house from his invisible nemesis. Al sometimes swears to see these moths over his brother's shoulder just to make him disappear from the proximity in terror just for a laugh. And who can blame him? You would too if your sibling had a silly, irrational fear.

._Thirty Four_.

"Brother, we have to help it," insists Al with angered tones.

"There's four of them and two of us," Ed snaps back. "What do you want us to do? I'm not magic."

The youngest Elric, age seven, bites on his lip as he observes the animal cruelty in front of him. Four boys have strung a rabbit by it's back leg from a tree branch and is poking at it with their fingers. One boy is flailing about a large tree limb which Al suspects he's going to use to kill the defenseless animal.

_Cowards. All of 'em!_ Al can't help being furious. He's been an avid animal lover all of his life and can't imagine tormenting an animal in such a way. He imagines doing the same to those boys and seeing how they like it.

"Don't jump into it, Al! You'll get hurt. Atleast let me help," Edward hisses in his brother's ear. He looks around for some weapons - some thick sticks or heavy stones - when his eyes settle on the pile of bikes the other kids abandoned.

A wicked plan forms in his head and he can't help but smile.

"Al, come on. Grab a stick and draw a large transmutation circle in the dirt."

"Why? They're gonna-"

"Just do it. I have an idea."

As Al dutifully does what his brother orders, Edward moves along the bushes towards the bikes. He grabs two of them and starts to drag them back. He constantly looks over his shoulder to make sure the fiends are distracted while their personal property is stolen. He and Al pile the two bikes into the center of the transmutation circle. Then Ed gets the other two bikes and they repeat the process.

"What are we going to make?" asks Al. This time his conscience stays silent.

Edward whispers what he wants to transmute and his little brother doesn't hold back his smile.

"Put everything into it," Edward advises as he takes his place across from his brother.

The Elrics' put their hands down on the circle. A bright, glowing light smothers the bikes. This successfully gains the troublemaker's attention but they do nothing expect yell obscenities their way. Perhaps they're fearful of the unknown, stuck where they stand, not wanting to venture near the bright light. It doesn't take five seconds for the bikes to mold themselves into their desired form.

In a mockery of these boys' crimes, their treasured bikes are replaced with a large, metal rabbit. It has fangs that droop past its chin and its lips are brought back into a vicious snarl.

"You little idiots! What did you do!" screams the boy with the tree limb. He throws it at them but misses by a foot.

"It's too late for your bikes," shouts Al. Sweat is pouring off of his forehead but he doesn't let his fatigue show. "Now leave the rabbit alone you jerks or we'll transmute your _faces_!"

"The damn brats are crazy!"

"What the hell did they do?!"

Edward laughs as they run away in fright. "Nice threat, Al," he chuckles.

Alphonse unties the rabbit from the rope and holds it in his arms briefly. He hugs it and then lets it hop away.

"I wonder if Mom'll like the statue or say we're grounded," wonders Ed aloud.

Al smiles widely at their creation. "She'll like it after we tell her it's a Rabbit of Justice."

._Thirty Five_.

"Poor Den," Al mumbles. "How'd he loose his leg?"

"A fight with another dog," Winry says as she scratches Den behind his ears. The six month old puppy leans into the affectionate touch and barks. "Gramma fixed him with auto-mail."

Edward looks down at the metallic arm and grimaces. "Musta' hurt a lot."

"It does but it's better than having no arm at all, I guess," Winry says with a shrug. "Den was crying the hold time. I felt so bad but I had to hold him down."

"Is it like a real arm?" Ed asks curiously. He always knew Pinako had something to do with this 'auto-mail' but he'd never truly seen it in action.

"Yeah! It's just like a real arm 'cept it's metal. And we've got to adjust it as he grows," she replies, obviously happy about talking of the subject. "Which you'd never have a problem with, Ed, 'cause you_ never _grow."

"Prolly 'cause he never drinks his milk," teases Al.

"I'll have a growth spurt, I'm only eight! And milk is gross. I don't' see how you can drink that crap!" He argues crossly. "And I ain't ever going to have auto-mail. I'm not gonna go lumberjacking and cut off a limb or something."

"Well good. I'm never having auto-mail either," Winry agrees. "Then again if I lost an arm I might say different."

Edward shrugs. He opens his mouth as though he's going to add another of his thoughts to the conversation but Den suddenly jumps at him, knocking him into the grass, and licks at his face with glee.

"I guess we all agree on never getting auto-mail, right?" The blonde girl asks, glancing towards Alphonse who has yet to say much on the subject.

Al blinks in confusion then gets what she's saying. "I'm careful so I don't think I'll need it."

"You're more careful that Ed, atleast," she remarks with a smirk.

"I'll watch brother too. Resembool ain't that dangerous anyway."

._Thirty Six_.

"I _so_ can fly!"

"No you can't!"

"Yes I can! Just watch!"

_That conversation can only lead to no good,_ Trisha thinks as she leaves her spot at the kitchen table.

Trisha comes into the living room just in time to witness her seven year old taking a dive off of the couch. Ed's arms slowly outstretch, each hand gripping an end of his bed sheet/cloak, supposing that this will help him to 'fly.'

It doesn't even aid him in floating. It's only a two foot difference from the couch arm to the floor and gravity doesn't waste any time in bringing his face to meet the wood with a loud thump.

"Edward!" The mother rushes to his side and rolls him onto his back. Thankfully he had enough sense to look to the side - perhaps to stare at Al in horror as he realized this was not going the way he planned - and didn't land right on his nose. There's a good-sized bruise on his cheekbone but besides this, nothing is hurt (except his ego).

"What got into you?" Trisha scolds. "I can't believe you. That was dangerous and you could have gotten hurt!"

"I told you so," says Al with a chuckle.

"'I told you so' has a brother, Al," hisses Ed while he rubs his aching face. "His name is 'Shutup.'"

._Thirty Seven_.

It's a hot Sunday afternoon and the Elric boys are in their father's study looking up further alchemy information. Edward claims to be a boy genius, but Alphonse says maybe all of his success has gone to his head.

"Obviously you cannot assimilate the extent of my genius."

"Brother, you don't even know what half of those words mean."

This rings true and that's why Edward has to quickly come up with a retort. The best he can come up with is, ". . . But you don't either!"

"I don't care."

There is a pause where the two brother's just stare at eachother, each unsure why they're having this conversation.

"Well . . . well . . . so's your face!"

"That doesn't even make sense!" A shake of the head follows this declaration.

"_You_ don't make sense." This is the laziest of all come backs: repeating what the other person has said. This is when Edward realizes he has lost and should just slink away with some dignity intact.

Instead of launching another verbal war that he's sure to lose, he crumples up a piece of paper and throws it at his little brother, then darts into a separate room before a counterattack can come his way.

._Thirty Eight_.

"Brother, we shouldn't be in here!" hisses Alphonse. He watches as his brother tiptoes into the unwelcoming open doors of the abandoned barn. His trepidation to follow is severe and he's not sure if he should run or stay outside.

"It's fine, geesh!" scoffs Ed from inside. "Don't be such a sissy! The rumors aren't true."

"But how do you know? Ghosts are real, brother, and Old Man Beretta's ghost could be in there!" whines the six year old fearfully. Ghosts are the types of things that haunt his dreams.

He's heard about Old Man Beretta's ghastly death by falling onto a pitchfork from the second story of the barn, and that his ghost is haunting this very barn, so this is why he is frightened to enter. Edward is more brave apparently. Then again Al would be brave too if he didn't believe in ghosts.

"But why would someone lie about it?" Al asks. "And it's nighttime! We should go home!"

"It'll only take a minute. I just wanna' see what's in here," assures the older brother. "You can stay out there if you want to."

There's a mocking tone to Ed's voice that strikes Al hard. It's not his fault that the ghost will chase them out. He's just trying to be cautious. Al knows he's always being the careful one while his brother more or less heads straight forward into danger without a second thought. This has always gotten the older Elric into trouble but it doesn't seem to bother him too much.

"Ghosts don't exist."

"If they don't then why do people dress up as ghosts on Halloween?"

"People dress up as vampires and witches on Halloween but you don't see them showing up anywhere," Edward says from the darkness. With a quick change of subject he says, "There's not much in here. Just some left-over hay and horseshoes. It's safe if you want to come in."

"Horse's have shoes?" Al questions innocently as he steps inside the barn. There's a sliver of the sunset left on the horizon that lights some of the barn's innards. Just like his brother said there are only a few miscellaneous things left.

"Yes, Al. They even have tap dancing shoes," he replies sarcastically.

Al turns his back to his brother to look outside the barn. He's determined to get out of this creepy place even if he has to drag his older brother out by his hair. "Ha ha. Now can we--"

"_Aaaahhh_!"

Of course, if Ed's going to yell in terror, this makes Al freak out also. "_Aaaahhh_!" He stumbles over his own two feet before he can run out of the barn. He's not sure what he's running from but he doesn't want to know.

"Al, Al, wait up!" Ed shouts from behind. He's only a couple of feet behind but Al's adrenaline is causing him to run way too fast.

"I told you! You never listen!" yells Al who slows down to a jog. He looks over his shoulder and expects to see a transparent, white old man with bleeding red holes in his chest closing in on his brother. Instead he see's only Ed. "Where's the ghost?"

Ed comes to a stop to catch his breath. Although his whole face is red from running, his cheeks are tomato red, suggesting that he's blushing. He mumbles bitterly, "There's no ghost."

Confusion is heavy in Al's tone as he asks, "Then why'd you scream?"

"I don't scream. Girls scream," snaps Ed.

"Okay, whatever. You gave a macho yell or something. But why'd you do it? What was I running from?"

"I don't know what you were running from but I was running from a hoard of moths."

"_Moths_? You scared me just for _moths_?"

"I hate moths! They're ugly and freaky!" retorts Ed angrily. "And there were a bunch of 'em. I should just carry around moth balls in my pockets since I run into them everywhere I go!"

"And you call me a sissy," mutters Al and gets a playful swat across the head for the remark.

._Thirty Nine_.

"Before you blow out the candles, have you made a wish?" asks Pinako. "It's very important, but don't say it out loud or it won't come true."

Edward takes a moment to think then says, "Got it!"

"You can blow out your candles now, Edward," instructs Trisha to her older son. He's sitting on her lap contentedly, with a huge smile and a brightly colored party hat strapped onto his head.

After blowing out the four candles Trisha takes them out of the cake. It's the shape of a cute rabbit, detailed right down to the whiskers and a fluffy, all-icing tail. She's proud of her handiwork and Edward obviously loves it from the joyous look in his eyes.

Trisha brings out the knife and begins to slice into the rabbit for the first piece. This is when Edward lets out a yell and grabs his mother's hands to pull the knife away.

"Edward, what's wrong?" Trisha asks, stopping and holding the knife out of her son's reach.

"You killed 'im!" He cries angrily. "You killed da bunny!"

"I wanna' eat 'im!" Al protests.

"You can't eat bunnies!" Edward retorts.

"It's not a real bunny," says Trisha with disbelief. She never foresaw this as a dilemma. "It's just a bunny cake."

Apparently this is the wrong thing to say because it draws a gasp from all of the children.

"You made da bunny into a cake?!" Now it's Edward's turn to sound startled.

"Momma, no! Why?" Al adds.

Winry just stands there looking at the cake as though she expects it to hop away at any moment.

"No, no. It's just a _cake_. No bunnies were sacrificed in the making of this cake, I swear," answers Trisha, hoping this will pacify him.

Pinako lets out a laugh. "Ah, children, so naive."

._Forty_.

"Momma, what does 'jackass' mean?"

Trisha turns around from her dishes with both eyebrows rose. It's young Alphonse, only five years old, and there's a curious look in his eyes. Obviously he has no idea what the word means, ergo doesn't know he shouldn't say it. Then she reminds herself it can also mean donkey so maybe he heard a farmer say it.

"I guess it depends on how you use it," she responds carefully. "Where did you hear it?"

"Winry said it to Ed. She called him a jackass cause he tugged her ponytail."

"Oooh. Well, it's a bad word Al. She shouldn't have called him that even if he was being mean."

"So brother isn't a jackass?" He only asks so he can come to an understanding.

"No, he's not," she assures him. "But it can also mean donkey."

Alphonse is content with this and begins to eat the lunch she's set out for the boys. He munches on his PB&J sandwich for a minute. Then Edward comes storming in, probably just after an argument with Winry, and plops into his chair to eat without a word to say to his brother or mother.

"What?" Ed snaps at his younger brother who has been eyeing him for the few past minutes.

"Brother, how come you never told me you was a donkey?"

"Al, he's _not _a donkey," Trisha sighs from where she stands. She guesses he misinterpreted what she said.

Edward's not too sure if he wants to dispute the fact whether he is a four-legged animal or not. It's disturbing on many levels so he just keeps chewing on his own sandwich, and settles on looking at his brother as though he's some un-Earthly being.

There's a couple of minutes of awkward silence where the two children finish their meal. As their mother picks up their dishes to be clean Al looks in Ed's direction.

"Sorry for calling you a donkey, brother," apologizes Al. This is after he's determined it's not okay to call your sibling a donkey or a jackass.

It's the weirdest apology Edward has ever received.

**I must admit I drew on personal experience for a couple of these. The "moth-zilla" thing is because I am really afraid of moths, and I swear there's this moth that shows up outside the window that is **_**humongous**_**, therefore I call him "moth-zilla".**

**Also the bunny cake thing is my doing. I was five and my mom started cutting into the cake and I cried, thinking she was killing the bunny. I was an animal-sensitive child.**

**Reviews would be greatly appreciated****.**


	5. Chapter 5

._Forty One_.

Thirty days abandoned on an island without using alchemy would be a feat for adults. For a nine and ten year old, it's made that much harder.

"Whoever said rubbing two sticks together makes fire _lied_!" exclaims Edward as he throws his stick into the bushes.

"Brother, you're supposed to do it like this." The younger Elric demonstrates by setting the bottom of his stick on the log, then quickly turning it back and forth with his palms. He holds the log steady by placing his feet on either side. It takes a minute to combust but a small lick of fire spurts forth. He blows on it and it rises even more. "See?"

"Don't look so happy. All that means is you're on the same level as a caveman," grunts Edward crossly.

._Forty Two_.

Trisha Elric is hardly an angry person. She likes to solve problems through talking, not arguing. She's not one to resort to raising her voice.

But right now she's positively furious.

"How _dare_ you unleash your dogs on my children!" She shouts. Trisha places herself protectively in front of her boys.

"They were on my property," snarls the owner. He's a middle-aged man with glasses, a farmer named Willus. His hands are wrapped around the leashes keeping his dogs at bay, though they are growling at the terrified children.

"You're lucky they weren't bit," says Trisha curtly.

"I got scratches," Al voices and holds out his forearm. Three diagonal, red scratches adorn the skin of the six year old.

"I had to pull the brown one off of him!" angrily snaps Edward. "I shoulda got a stick and hit him!"

"I have a right to defend my land against little brats like them," Willus says. "They shouldn't have come near my barn."

"They were just curious!" Trisha states firmly. "Edward and Alphonse have never caused any problems for this town. You had no right, Willus, you're just too proud to admit it. But what if they were seriously injured? Could you have lived with yourself?"

Even Willus is surprised by the ire in her voice. He shakes his head and says, "If they stay away I won't do it again. I didn't mean to loose control of Buster and get the little boy hurt. I just wanted to scare 'em."

"Job well done. You've scared a six and seven year old out of their minds. Are you happy now?"

"Mom, I wanna go in the house," says Al. His wary gaze is settled on the large brown dog who had pinned him down before. Luckily Edward had saved him and the other two dogs had been caught by Willus. The brown dog had followed them all of the way home which has led them to this confrontation.

"You'll be safe inside or out Al," comforts Trisha. She turns around to look at her sons and smiles. "I won't let them hurt either of you."

"Lets go in the house," says Edward to his mother, being a pacifist for once. "It ain't worth it."

"You're completely right Ed," agrees Trisha. She looks over her shoulder at the farmer and says, "Nothing is worth the safety of two children."

Trisha leads them into the house, ignoring the words of half-hearted apologies from Willus. He's probably never going to be truly sorry until he has children of his own. Even someone as kindhearted as Trisha can turn into a force to be reckoned with when her precious offspring are involved.

._Forty Three_.

"Um, brother, I heard the slide was broken," voices Al hesitantly.

Edward stops where he's climbing, half way up the ladder now, and stares down at his brother. "If you want a turn you're gonna wait. I got here first," he says.

"No, really. Tanya said that Morris said that Mr.--"

"I don't care what Bunion and Torris--" ("Tanya and Morris, brother . . . ") "--said. They just want the slide for themselves."

"But what if they were right?"

Edward chooses to over look his brother's warnings. He climbs to the top, plops his butt at the start of it, and slowly descends. It's when he reaches halfway that he realizes that something isn't right. In fact the left slide has lost it's screws where it connects with the ladder, so, by Edward's weight, the left side of the slide disconnects with the ladder making is hang lazily to the left. Edward topples over the side of the slide and connects head-first with the ground.

"I dunno if it was broken, brother," teases Alphonse, trying to hold back his chuckles. "It coulda been your fat butt."

Edward rubs at his sore forehead and sends his younger brother a harsh glare. "I'm never gonna go above ground again," he mutters.

._Forty Four_.

"This is the song that never ends. Yes it goes on and on my friends," sings Al. "At first people sang it not knowing what it was, but they kept on singing it forever just because this is the song that never--"

"Augh! Whoever taught you that song needs a kick in the head!" Edward shouts, running down the road.

"You can't outrun me!" Al shouts. He starts to jog, staying a foot or so behind his brother, going on to sing, "I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves, everybody's nerves, everybody's nerves! I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves and this is how it goes: I know a song that gets on--"

"Or maybe I'll just kick _you_ in the head!" threatens the older Elric.

Al grins at his brother wickedly. "Miss Susie had a tug boat, the tug boat had a bell. Miss Susie when to heaven, the tug boat when to hell-o operator--"

"If you drive me insane I hope the voices tell me to hurt you first," calls Edward over his shoulder.

"You were insane before I started driving, brother," replies Al. "Anyway . . . hell-o operator, give me number nine, and if you disconnect me I'll kick you in the behind the refrigerator, there was a piece of glass. Miss Susie sat upon it and broke her little a--"

"Let's just hope you drive into a ditch and your vocal cords gets broken," mutters Ed bitterly.

._Forty Five_.

Alphonse is pretty sure that if he lets go of the horse's mane he will fall to his death.

"You're doing fine honey," says Trisha, guiding the horse by the reins. She glances at Ed, who has a wide grin plastered on his face, as the horse strides next to them. "Edward's doing good too. See how he's sitting straight? Your horse will like it better if you do that."

"I'm gonna fall," he mumbles.

"No you're not. I won't let you." She stops the horse to look at her younger son. She puts her hands under his arms and gently lifts him into the upright position, hoping her warm smile will be enough to get rid of his fright.

"I don't like horses," says Al. "Can't we go pet cats instead?"

"Horses are very nice animals, Al. And you can ride one with ease. Now come on, you can do it," Trisha says encouragingly. She hands the six year old the reins and guides him along, slowly.

Al looks at this surroundings and it appears that he's looking down from a height of fifty feet. "It's so high off the ground."

"It's not that far," says Ed. "And we've just got one more lap to go before we're done. I bet I can race you!"

"Edward--" Trisha begins before Ed kicks his heels on the horses sides, pulling on the reigns, and this sends the horse darting forth. "Edward! Stop!"

What Edward doesn't realize is that with every gallop, he's slowly sliding off. The idiotic move he makes is when he throws his hands into the air with a declaration of, "I'm gonna win! I'm gonna win! I'm gonna--"

Ultimately he slips off. There's no worse spot that he could have fell off, really, because he lands right into a pile of horse dung. Upon seeing this Trisha runs to her fallen son, who's seething with rage. Al suddenly gets rid of his fear of heights and jumps off his horse, scratching his knees on impact, but ignores this as he runs over to his brother.

"You okay brother?"

By this time Ed has gotten out of the manure and Trisha is trying to wipe it off with a handkerchief. Ultimately, she just pulls his shirt off. It's a nice summers day so Edward can go shirtless. As for his shorts . . . that's a lost cause until they return home.

"I reek of poo! How do ya think I'm doing?"

"Crappy," he puns with a grin.

"Hardy har har, Al," Ed grumbles irritably.

._Forty Six_.

"Do you ever wonder what dad is doing?"

"No."

Al's shoulders sag slightly. He knows this is a touchy subject with Edward but he needs to talk about this with somebody. He'd go to their mother but he doesn't want to burden her with his thoughts. Al knows she thinks about him enough; she doesn't need another reminder of how he's left. It just bothers him so much that on their way to school he brings it up.

"Why, brother?"

"I hate him."

"I know that but--"

"Can't you see what he's done to mom?" snaps Ed, his footsteps now turning into stomps from pure anger. "He's made her miserable! She can't hide it all the time and he's made her feel that way."

"I don't remember him at all. It's not fair."

"I disagree," says Edward with a harsh bitterness. "It's harder when you know he was _there_ and that he _supposedly_ loved youand then just . . . !"

He takes his frustration out on a nearby tree. He punches it as hard as he can, all of his fury, vehemence, and hatred at his father wrapped into one hit. He brings his fist back and his knuckles are bleeding from the blow.

"Brother . . . " Al looks very concerned about his knuckles but Edward shrugs it off, walking down the road without a hint of pain as his hands become fists again.

He dourly adds as they approach school. "You're lucky, Al. You can't miss what you never had."

._Forty Seven_.

"Let me out! Let me out!"

Claustrophobia. Darkness. Help. Help!

"_Please _. . . "

The sound of his hands slapping the door and jiggling the handle reverberate around the cramped janitors closet. How this came about is their group was discussing fears before lunch, and Al decided to say, "I have a bad fear of the dark."

_Where's Ed? He should notice me gone!_

It's his only hope to get out of here. Atleast, until the kid holding the door handle gets bored enough to let him out. By the sounds of it they're still calling him a wuss and mocking his pleas for release. Al doesn't want to frantically beg to be let out. All it's doing is feeding their sadistic pleasure.

Al tries to control his breathing so he's calmer.

_There's nothing bad in here_, he repeats in the privacy of his own mind. _Nothing can get me. I will be okay. They can't keep me in here forever._

What snaps him out of his mantra is his brother's voice, loud and clear over everything.

"Is Al in there?" Ed's voice is dripping with venom.

"So what?" A kid snaps.

"Let him out or I will shove your nose into that empty space where your brain should be."

"Oooh, I'm so scared," laughs another child. "Big bad Edwardo is gonna beat me up!"

"It's _Edward_!"

There's a bang on the door. Al jumps back, wondering if this is his brother pounding on the door. He soon comes to the conclusion that he shoved whatever kid had called him Edwardo into the door.

"Nice going brother!" encourages Al. "But can you let me out?"

The door swings open and to Al's surprise there's no one there but his brother. With a startled expression he walks out, peering on either side of the hallway for his tormentors, then lets out a mile-long sigh of relief.

"Thank you," he breathes. "I hated that."

"So did I," agrees Ed. "But I punched Ben right in the stomach. You should have seen his face though, when I did. It was like a clown mated with a pig. All surprised and fat."

Alphonse laughs at this. His brother always knows how to make him laugh, even after something as terrifying as being trapped in a closet.

._Forty Eight_.

"What's your biggest fear, brother?"

Great. Another late night chat with Alphonse.

"That a meteor will fall out of the sky and crush me."

"I'm serious!" snaps Al.

"Hey, it could happen," he retorts. "Meteors fall all of the time."

"I've never heard that."

"That's because you have a short attention span," says Ed, trying to veer off course of talking about his greatest fears. "One dropped not too long ago a little bit away. We could be next."

"Really?" squeaks the gullible younger brother.

"Really."

"That's going on my fear list too, then."

The silence thus proves that, yes, Al has a short attention span.

Edward sighs and says, "Good night Al. And don't try to wake me up. If you say 'Are you awake, brother?' more than once, no, I am not awake."

._Forty Nine_.

There is only one piece of pie left and each brother has their eye on it. They look at eachother from across the table, gauging their reactions to see who's going to reach for it first.

"I should get it because I'm older," declares Edward.

"I should get it because I helped mom with the laundry."

"I cleaned the front room yesterday."

"I got an A on my math test."

"Liar! You got an A-!"

"It's still an A!" disputes Al crossly.

Edward scoffs at this. "I get A's all the time."

"Yeah, when it stands for ass."

"You swore!" says Ed triumphantly. He leans forward to snatch the piece of pie in victory but Al pulls it away. "Hey! That's mine now!"

"You're the one that taught me that word so it's not my fault," says the younger brother smugly.

Edward sits down in his seat and seethes. He's soon rewarded when Trisha comes into the kitchen and clucks her tongue.

"Al, don't eat that. That's my piece."

There's nothing that Al can say to this. He hands the plate to his mother, a solemn look on his face. It's a big contrast to the grin Edward has now.

As soon as Trisha leaves the room Ed chuckles. "I guess _you're_ the ass now."

.Fifty.

"This is a dreamcatcher," says Trisha as she hangs it from the nail. It's hanging above the window in the boy's bedroom and it matches the one in her room. She smiles as young children look up at it, most likely trying to understand what a dreamcatcher actually does. "This takes all of your nightmares away and gives you peace."

"Does it take away the good dreams?" asks Edward.

"No, it leaves them behind for you to cherish."

"I want my good dreams forever," says Alphonse. "I don't want you or brother to go away."

"We're always here when you wake up," Trisha says.

"You're there after nightmares too," reminds Al, knowing he can go either to his mother or brother after this occurs. "But I like that. Maybe I dun want them to go away."

"Why? I hate nightmares," says Ed.

"'Cause if the nightmares go away, so does the stuff after, and I like that."

"You can always come to me for the afterwards," says Trisha. "Both of you. Even if you do have a nightmare that the dreamcatcher doesn't snatch, you can come to me."

"What if you have a nightmare, mom?" inquires Ed. "Our beds aren't that big."

"I'm a big girl. I can handle them," she responds. "Besides I don't have that many."

"What happens in your nightmares?" asks Al.

Trisha doesn't respond for a moment. She's not sure that she can come up with one off the top of her head. Soon she reaches something that plagues her horribly, although she's positive that it will never come to fruition.

"That you both are gone," she whispers. "That would be the hardest thing to endure."

"We'd miss you a lot," Edward says, hoping to comfort his mom. "So we ain't going nowhere soon."

She ruffles her oldest sons hair lovingly. "Me either. We have many, many years until that time comes. And when it does, I want you both to hold your heads high and lead good lives. Understand?"

The two boys nod, not really comprehending the serious tone she's using. Trisha really does mean these words: if, god forbid, something should ever happen to her . . . all she wants is for them to be able to continue their lives. There's nothing more that she wants other than for them to be happy. It's simple, really, and that's the beauty of it.

There's nothing that is better than a mothers love. Although, a love between brothers is a close second.

**End.**


End file.
